


A home she’s never been to before

by ToxicPineapple



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Kind of dancing in the rain?, Lighthearted, Mud things, Mukuro gets to be happy fuck you, Rain, Thinking about the rain, introspective, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22330453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: As the fence around their backyard quickly darkens with water, and the grass turns shiny, Mukuro doesn’t make any moves to go inside. There’s the overhang above her, keeping her safe from the weather, but that’s not really why she stays. The pitter-patter of raindrops all around her is soothing, somehow, in a way that’s difficult to describe. She doesn’t have anywhere to be today. Or tomorrow. She could sit here all night and that would be perfectly fine. (Of course, Sayaka would come out to check on her, but Sayaka understands the quieter things, the healing moments, and so she wouldn’t say anything, she’d just drop gracefully to sit at her side.)---Mukuro enjoys a moment in the rain.
Relationships: Ikusaba Mukuro/Maizono Sayaka
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	A home she’s never been to before

Mukuro is sitting on the porch when raindrops begin to fall, one after the other in rapid succession, beating down on the green grass in their backyard. She’s been waiting for it to rain for a couple days, now; it’s been so muggy that she’s felt this constant anticipation in her chest. She’s been kind of wishing that it would just start pouring so that all the waiting would be over and done with, which is kind of saying something, because she’s never been the biggest fan of rain, because it splatters everything with mud and turns the world dark grey. Besides, being out in the rain she can’t think of anything but curling up into a ball on the streets, cold and stiff and wet hands trying to rub dirt from her cheeks but only smearing it across her face.

She’s not in that position now, but the association remains. Still, as the fence around their backyard quickly darkens with water, and the grass turns shiny, Mukuro doesn’t make any moves to go inside. There’s the overhang above her, keeping her safe from the weather, but that’s not really why she stays. The pitter-patter of raindrops all around her is soothing, somehow, in a way that’s difficult to describe. She doesn’t have anywhere to be today. Or tomorrow. She could sit here all night and that would be perfectly fine. (Of course, Sayaka would come out to check on her, but Sayaka understands the quieter things, the healing moments, and so she wouldn’t say anything, she’d just drop gracefully to sit at her side.)

That’s not what Mukuro wants, though, and the thought takes her off guard. Gazing out at the grass, Mukuro finds that she has a strong desire to… to, well, walk through it. Feel the blades tickling the arches of her bare feet. To feel the icy cold sheets of rain sticking her clothes to her body and soaking through her skin, right down to the bone. She wants her nose and ears to sting with cold, her hair to hang down and drip in front of her eyes. She wants to be weighed down by all of the water, but freed as well; to feel the icy pleasantness of water dripping down her chest.

Before she can even begin to consider the repercussions of such desires, Mukuro is on her feet, and she skips the steps getting down off the porch. Her feet immediately sink into the mud, which is cold and sticky, but it isn’t unpleasant. She’s wearing a skirt today, shorter than she would normally. It reaches her knees. It isn’t in any danger of being covered with mud. When she looks up at the sky, she has to blink harder than normal to avoid any water blurring her vision. But her feet keep moving, moving, until she’s standing in the middle of her backyard, and there is wet grass between her toes.

She can feel it, the water, splattering against her shirt. It’s Sayaka’s shirt, actually, a lovely pale blue, but it’s darkening with each droplet of water, and there are many of them. Soon it’s soaked, and she can feel that the wetness goes all the way down to her bra, but Mukuro doesn’t shiver. The cold is intriguing, not uncomfortable. She extends one of her hands and catches a few raindrops in her palm, brings it to her mouth. The rain tastes sweet on her tongue.

When she shakes her head, her hair flicks her cheek, but she smiles at it instead, and runs her other hand through it. It’s cold and wet, the way it is after she goes swimming, but more authentic somehow. This is water coming down from the natural sky above her head, water that she doesn’t have any control over being up there. She rocks back and forth on her feet, feeling the slickness of the mud underneath her, and lets out a laugh that is breathless and a little bit crazy.

Everything around her is grey. The streets are empty, save for the occasional car zooming by, and the sky is darkening. It’s dusk by now, and everyone should be at home, having dinner with their families. She’s the only person around, and somehow it is liberating and not lonely. The mud is so smooth, so slippery, Mukuro wonders if she could slide in it, pretend to ice skate across her back yard. Tentatively, experimentally, she spins over to the other side of the yard, and then gets a running start going back the other way.

Her heels dig into the mud, but she does slide a little bit-- too fast, perhaps, and too unsteady, because she loses her balance and falls backwards into the ground with a quiet splat. Her arms spread out instinctively, some lame attempt at catching her fall, but they do nothing to stop the wind from getting knocked out of her lungs.

She’s laughing again, smiling hard, tracing patterns in the mud with her hands and staring up into the raindrops that are falling onto her face. She can feel the mud and the grass against her bare calves her hands, her neck where her hair doesn’t cover, and it’s cool and familiar somehow, even though Mukuro is sure she’s never lied down in it before. It’s like being welcomed back to a home she’s never been to before. Startlingly familiar and comforting. She closes her eyes for a moment and imagines that the raindrops falling from the sky are there to clean her of everything, wash away all of her; her feelings, her mistakes, her regrets. Wash away Fenrir and Junko and everything else, all the pain, and the struggling. She imagines that the water is there to strip away at every single one of her layers, all the defense mechanisms that she’s built up through a life of pain, and leave her shivering and raw, completely empty of everything that she was before, except for--

“Muku?” Sayaka’s voice slides gently into her reverie, and Mukuro cracks open an eye, turning her head to the side to meet her wife’s concern. She’s standing under the overhang, a lopsided, but worried smile on her face. Her blue eyes, though, are breathtaking, and Mukuro beams at her. “Are you, uhm,” Sayaka seems unable to keep up appearances as a concerned partner when Mukuro is grinning at her so dopily. A more genuine smile appears on her face. “Are you alright?” She asks anyway, though it feels more like an obligation, something that she  _ should  _ say, but doesn’t really mean.

“Never better,” says Mukuro hoarsely. She sits herself up, running her hand through muddy hair and smiling again when her hands come away dirty. “Feeling up to a shower, my love?” She asks, and watching Sayaka laugh. Her feet are bare too, Mukuro notices, and she’s wearing a sweater, a dark purple one (Mukuro’s) and leggings and so maybe she’s a bit better for this rolling around in the mud thing.

Sayaka responds without speaking, quietly closing the screen door behind herself and stepping off the porch and into the rain. She doesn’t stop; there’s nothing experimental or inquisitive about the way that she strides over to Mukuro, rapidly moistening wet hair shifting behind her. Mukuro opens up her arms, and when Sayaka drops down to her knees, she leans into them, pressing light, warm kisses to the crook of Mukuro’s cold neck.

“I like the rain,” Mukuro murmurs, and feels the vibration of Sayaka’s laugh against her neck, the curve of her playful smile before she even speaks, and decides that this is what happiness feels like, here in the cold with her beautiful wife in her arms, rain pouring down around them.

**Author's Note:**

> i live in seattle so in general i consider myself to be an authority on rain, yea
> 
> fdsjkfhjds no but it has been raining a bit lately,,, :eyes:
> 
> this piece got vibes my friends


End file.
